


Magic Words

by HeartlessMemo



Series: Tracker!Verse [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Praise Kink, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo
Summary: The reader is a mutant prisoner in a relationship with her captor, Donald Pierce.
Relationships: Donald Pierce/Reader, Donald Pierce/You
Series: Tracker!Verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730212
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	Magic Words

Donnie wakes with the memory of your kiss on his lips. He’s been dreaming about the last night you spent together at his apartment. Holding you after you make love and lazily claiming your mouth with open mouthed kisses. You taste like ketchup and love and fear. Your soft little body curls up next to his; he could crush you if he wanted. Crumple you up and throw you away like the other mutants he hunts. But he’d never. In his dream he hears your voice. Your words. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

In his dream he says them back.

\---

He finds you in the medical wing, being escorted by a nurse out of an exam room. He stalks toward you like a predatory cat hunting its dinner. His blue eyes are dark and wild with suppressed desire. He’s been itching with the memory of the dream all day. If he doesn’t sink himself inside you soon he’s going to snap. 

He swoops in and takes you by the arm, waving the nurse away, “I’ll take her from here.”

Transigen’s Chief of Security doesn’t answer to anyone except Zander Rice. The nurse demurs, backing away without meeting Donald’s eyes. He propels you further down the hall, his long strides forcing you to skip along beside him to keep up. Finally, he reaches his destination: a supply closet. He opens the door and practically shoves you inside. 

Once the door clicks shut, Donnie is on you, his hand slipping under the thin cotton fabric of your t-shirt, beneath the drawstring waistband of your hospital pants and cupping your hot core. His fingers dip inside your panties, stroking your already wet folds as he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. 

“Been thinkin’ about you since I woke up this morning, baby,” he whispers into your kiss.

You bring your hands up to his collar, impatiently pushing the heavy jacket off his shoulders before working on the column of buttons separating your hands from his muscled chest. Your lips respond to his, frantically returning the kiss. Everything is rushed, frenzied. You never have enough time--not here. When you’re out on a mission? When Donnie is feeling generous and horny? Sure. But within these walls your time together is always fleeting. 

“I think about you all the time,” you admit, tugging at his belt. He gets the message and takes his hands from you to undo his belt and shove his pants down. You discard your own pants--nothing more than pajamas, really--and in one swift motion he’s pinning your hips to the wall and sinking inside you with a deep growl of pleasure. 

“You think about me all the time, baby? I’m flattered…,” he huffs as he starts rocking his hips, slamming into you. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head so you won’t hit it against the wall. He uses the robotic arm to support your bottom. 

“Not much--ah! Not much else to...think about in here. Nothing good, anyway,” you respond between gasps of pleasure. You bury your face into the crook of Donnie’s neck, digging your teeth into the soft flesh to muffle your cries. 

“Thatta girl, baby. You’re so good for me. So, you think I’m something good, huh?” he asks breathlessly, his voice lilting in a self deprecating tone. Before you can reply he jerks his hips at a new angle, hitting you just right until you feel like you’ll either come or burst at the seams.

You raise your head from his neck, tasting copper on your tongue as you keen into his ear, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Donnie tumbles into his own orgasm, his arms tightening around you like he’s trying to absorb you into his being. Or like he’s trying to say something with his body that he can’t with his words. 

“Donnie,” you whisper as he slowly sets you back down on your wobbly legs. “I don’t know if you’re good. But you’re very good at that.”

\---

The kid’s screams are still ringing in Donald’s ears as he strides purposely down the sterile hallways toward the adult wing. Dr. Rice wanted to test the limits of the specimen’s healing abilities. The experiment went on for hours until the kid hung limp in the chair with open wounds that wouldn’t close. Rice looked on with cold eyes, taking down careful notes on his tablet. And Donald stood by, too, watching the torture session with a bored expression. 

His head aches and he feels like shit. He should go home, get some rest. But his footsteps automatically lead him in the direction of your cell. He tries not to make it a habit--visiting you between jobs. He doesn’t want to spoil you...put ideas in your head. So he holds out as long as possible. It’s been weeks since the supply closet. He knows what the long days of monotony are like for you. He checks the video feed from your room every day, sees you staring listless into space, pacing the tiny room, cringing whenever the door opens to admit an orderly. He tells himself it’s good for you to be reminded of your place, despite the special treatment he gives you. You’re still a mutant. He can’t let you forget that. He can’t let himself forget either.

Before he gets to your door he takes out his phone and remotely turns off the camera in your room. Your “relationship” is an open secret and Dr. Rice tolerates it because you’ve improved the team’s efficiency in tracking down assets. But there’s no point in being reckless.

He punches in the security code and lets himself in, finding you seated on your little twin bed, bent over a hardcover book in your lap. When you look up at his entrance your face is tense with anxiety, but it melts away when you see who it is. 

“Hey, baby,” he grunts, stomping over to collapse next to you on the bed. He really is exhausted. “What are you readin’?”

You watch him for a moment before you answer. Cautious. He looks like shit. Tired. Irritable. Something in the back of your mind warns you this is going to be a bad night. Still, you flip the book over to show him the cover of a generic looking spy thriller, “One of the nurses brought in a bunch of books this morning. Gabriela. She’s nice.”

You feel Donald stiffen beside you and he rolls his eyes as he responds, “She’s too nice for her own good. She should know better by now.”

Your heart sinks in your chest at his words. Donnie truly doesn’t seem to understand how his attitude affects you. He cares for you--you know he does even if he’s never admitted it out loud--and yet he disdains what you are. How can he separate those things in his head?

“You don’t want me to have something to read?” you ask, your voice brittle and softer than you’d like. You shove the book at him and scoot further away on the bed, “Fine. Take it.”

Donnie let’s out an annoyed sigh, “C’mon, darlin’ that’s not what I meant--”

“Why shouldn’t she be nice to us, Donald? We’re people...we’re human beings. I’m human,” your voice is thick with emotion and tears spill over your cheeks. _Fuck, you’re ruining everything. Why can’t you just shut up and let him give you what he’s willing to give? It’s so much easier that way…_

You can already see him shutting down, his eyes going cold and his handsome features twisting into a grimace of rage.

“You know what? No. This is not what I need right now,” he stands up to leave and you feel a flash of panic. You might be angry and hurt, but you’ve been isolated for weeks and you don’t want him to leave you behind again.

“Donnie, wait!” you cry out, following him to the door and putting your arm on his elbow to stop him. He turns to look down at you, his expression still stormy and dark. “Don’t leave me here, Donnie,” you plead.

He shakes his head, the pain in his temples slowing down his thought process, “You know I can’t take you with me unless there’s a hunt--”

“That’s not…” you falter for a second, losing your nerve. _Are you really asking him this? Now?_ “That’s not what I mean, Donald. Please. I’m dying in here. Slowly. If you get me out of here I can still--I can still help the team…”

The words dry up on your tongue as you see the look on his face. If he was angry before, he’s positively furious now. He raises his robotic hand and wraps the fingers around your throat, tightening his grip threateningly, but not enough to cut off your airway. His blue eyes blaze with fury as he leans down inches from your face and hisses, “You fuckin’ mutie. I should have known. You’ve been playing a long game, huh? You think just because I’m fuckin’ you that I’ll betray the mission? _For you_? A genetic fuck up? That’s not how this works. You lose.”

He lets go abruptly, dropping you on weak legs that collapse beneath you leaving you sprawled on the floor. You watch him storm out without a backward glance. You stagger back to your bed, curling up under the thin blanket and pressing your face into your pillow so you can cry without making a sound.

\---

“Up and at ‘em, baby. Time to earn your keep.”

You haven’t seen Donnie since the fight but it’s clear he hasn’t forgotten. His eyes are closed off as he shakes you awake, grabbing your arm and practically dragging you from bed. Your sleepy eyes widen as he secures the heavy cuffs around your wrists. It’s not that Donnie is usually soft or sentimental during a job. But he hasn’t felt the need to cuff you since the early days after your capture. You know what this is. He’s punishing you. Reminding you of your status. Like you need reminding. 

His silence is oppressive as he leads you through Transigen’s labyrinth of hallways. You look up at him, admiring his profile despite yourself. His pouty lips, his long, elfin nose, his bold eyebrows. You love every part of him. Even the grotesque skull and crossbones tattooed to his throat. Even the cruelty that falls from his lips like his native language. The prospect of spending the rest of your days locked away here without even the relief of your lover’s touch is too much to bear.

“Donnie, I-- I won’t ask you that again, okay?”

He spares you a quick glance before returning his gaze straight ahead, “Not the time, darlin’.”

Your shoulders slump at his clipped words.

“I just want--” What do you want? Too much…but right now you’d settle for a return to the status quo.

Donnie rounds on you, pressing you up against the wall and crowding you with his much bigger frame. The fact of Donnie’s physical strength is never far from your thoughts. He’s a big, powerful man. He can make you feel safe and protected or hunted depending on his mood. 

He dips his head until you’re cheek to cheek and rumbles into your ear, “Yeah, well, baby--It don’t matter what we want, does it?”

\---

“Do your thing.”

You’re pulled over on the side of an empty two-lane highway. Acres of corn field hug the road on either side. It’s just you and Donnie standing in the scraggly grass. You’re scouting ahead while the rest of the team, with their armored vehicles and heavy equipment, follow a few miles behind. Donnie unlocks the cuffs from your wrists and hands you a grainy photograph. It’s a still shot of security footage showing a young woman with dark hair crossing the street in front of a bank. You can’t make out much detail in her features, but you don’t need much. Just a signature, a feeling to lock onto. 

You place your palm on the photo and close your eyes, expecting a faint trace, a hint of a direction, but the rush of immediacy that floods your brain is shocking.

“She’s here somewhere! I feel her close, Donnie, maybe within a hundred yards…”

Donnie’s hand goes to his side arm automatically, he moves to stand in front of you, effectively shielding you from any danger that might be coming from the...rows and rows of corn that surround your vehicle. 

“Where the fuck--?”

“I don’t know! I can’t get more specific…Definitely...yeah, this side of the road, for sure.”

Donnie turns and opens up the passenger door of the SUV, “Get in. Stay here. I’ll be back.”

You pause getting into the car, “Shouldn’t you wait for back up?”

“Just wait here,” he grinds out and vanishes into the cornstalks.

You sit back in the leather seat and pop the lock on the door for good measure. The trace of the mutant’s presence still lingers in your mind and you strain your eyes staring into the impenetrable rows of corn trying to pinpoint the exact location. It’s useless, though, and you give up after a few minutes. The empty silence unnerves you and you feel yourself automatically reaching out for Donnie, as if you could track him like you can other mutants. _Please be okay._

Your eyes roam over the interior of the SUV and are suddenly arrested by the sight of the key fob sitting on the center console. Your breath catches in your throat and you immediately whip your head around, expecting to be caught out by yourself with the means of your escape. But the road is deserted, Donnie is nowhere in sight...and you could leave. Right now. Drive until you find some place safe. You clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking. This is it. Your chance. 

The silence is suddenly shattered by an ear splitting howl. You watch as a trail of cornstalks snap with the fury of a hurricane force wind and Donnie flies through the air like a rag doll landing in a heap on the road in front of the SUV. His body is limp and unmoving. Without any conscious thought you leap from the vehicle and sprint toward him. Your eyes scan the field, but there’s no sign of the hostile mutant. You fall to your knees on the hard cement and lift your lover’s head into your lap.

“Donnie! Oh my god--Donnie, wake up!” 

You brush your fingers through his hair and they come away bloody. There’s a wound at the back of his head that’s pouring buckets of blood. Your vision swims as panic clenches a cold fist around your heart. _He can’t die. You know...god, you should want him dead. But you love him. Fuck._

“Please, wake up,” you whisper tearfully, gently stroking his cheeks. It feels like hours but it must be only a minute later than this eyelids flutter open and you feel relief flood through you at the sight of those beautiful blue eyes. “Donnie? Can you hear me?”

He’s already trying to sit up, but a wave of dizziness sends him crashing back into your lap. His vision swims and his head feels like it’s going through a god damn meat grinder. He looks up and you’re looking down at him with a watery smile and red-rimmed eyes. The target’s gone. Back up is miles down the road. He’s injured. And you’re...you’re still here.

“What...what are you doin’, baby? This is your chance,” he grunts against the pain, settling his head more firmly in your lap and shutting his eyes as your cool palms come to rest on his cheeks. 

“Don’t try to talk, Donnie. The reavers will be here soon and they’ll...they’ll bring you back to Transigen and get you fixed up.”

Donnie opens his eyes to squint up at you in confusion, “What are you talking about, Y/N? Why aren’t you running?”

You stare down into your lovers eyes, asking yourself the same question. You know the answer. You’re just not particularly proud of it.

“I won’t leave you, Donnie... I love you,” you admit. It’s the first time you’ve said the words to him outside the context of sex. He stares up at you wide-eyed, like you’ve just sprouted feathers. You shut your eyes to the truth, letting tears fall and land on his stupid, handsome face as the sound of screeching tires and crunching gravel alert you to the arrival of the rest of the team. 

“Hey,” Donnie’s voice is strained against the pain. You open your eyes to find him looking up at you with a look you’ve never seen before. He looks...afraid. 

“I love you, too,” he says and then falls unconscious.


End file.
